A Chunk of Crappy FrUk Oneshots
by DatAssRomano
Summary: FrUk for a friend's birthday that's a month late. Oh well, le YOLO. FrancexEngland, FrUk, whatever you want to call it. None of them are related to each other. Prompts are useful.
1. Chapter 1

# FrUk 01 #

Le Jump-off-the-balcony

**DARoma; To be fair...I wrote this a very long time ago. Then deleted the first two chapters. It became le oneshot, and I added a start onto it, and that was it. It's terrible; I know. **

_S. Korea: But it was made in Korea! _

_China: It was not, aru! What is up with you and your immaturity? _

_ : Aniki..._

_China: *sigh* Yes, what is it? _

_ : I just have to grope you! *pounce* _

**DARoma: This is FRUK! Jesus! **

### ####

France was bored with life. Every day, the same thing, endless. He was walking around in a circle of death and mediocrity. Not to mention he had to live with the knowledge the person he had feelings for would never return them because of all their fighting, their problems, their arguing. Not to mention said person was drunk in a room a few doors away, probably getting his brains fucked out by Amerique, while he himself was standing by himself in the cold.

He was the nation of romance, and this was pathetic.

He wandered out of the balcony of his room, dark, expressionless eyes scanning the ground below. His waved golden hair was swept away from his face by the gentle breeze. It was nice. France leaned a little further over the railing, closing his eyes to take a deep breath.

Suddenly, he was nearly bowled over by a small blonde. England's arms were wrapped around his waist tightly, and worry hit the Frenchman that he was clinging to. He couldn't see the Brit's face, so he wasn't quite sure what was going on.

"...Arthur?"

"Don't jump."

France raised an eyebrow, glad England couldn't see his derisive look.

"Angleterre...I wasn't-"

"You can't jump! You can't...you can't leave me, you dumb git."

France was more than a little tempted to tell England he was being selfish, but he could hear tears in the other's voice. It was a bit late to admit he'd never planned on jumping in the first place. Mon dieu.

"I...I can't..."

"Mon Cher, wha-"

"Shut up!"

France soon gave up on trying to detach himself from the Brit (mostly he just wanted to see what he could just tell would be a nosebleed-worthy expression on the other blonde's face, he didn't mind the close proximity of England) and noticed the British nation was shaking. Small, imperceptible tremors that the Frenchman could only tell were real because of the closeness of their bodies. England let out a breath, and began to talk in a small, shaking voice that had none of the fiery determination he normally had in it.

"You...you can't leave me because I...I can't...I can't live without you!"

France had to turn around now. He did it gently, and as soon as he did he found England standing there, his hair messed up, his green eyes staring down at the ground, cheeks burning a bright red. "Mon amour...I-" he started, but he was cut off. "It doesn't matter what you think, frog," he snapped. It was only when he raised his head to glare through the spiky blonde fringe that France saw tears dripping down his pale face.

"Arthur, I-"

But England didn't wait for an answer and whirled around, clearly intending to leave this time.

A flash of frustration flowed through the Frenchman's mind, clouding what would be called his sanity, and his patience shattered. He'd waited long enough for the snobbish nation. France wasn't letting him go this time, he would not allow him to escape again. He followed the other into the bedroom and abruptly pushed him back onto the bed. England's eyes went wide as he was roughly pinned against the white sheets. Cold midnight blue eyes stared down at him with an expression the Brit couldn't begin to name.

"Francis, what're you-"

Today was clearly the day where no one got the chance to finish their sentence, as England found his lips covered by France's own. He instantly melted into the contact, all of his thoughts flying away like a flying mint bunny, and when the blonde above him deigned to move a few inches away, he somehow felt even more bewildered than he had before. "You should've just let me speak, Arthur," France said softly, not really scolding him but still getting a reaction from the other. England felt embarrassment flood him and tried to look away, only to be foiled by his captor yet again as France used one delicate hand movement to force him to look back at those dark, amused blue eyes.

"You can't live without me, Arthur? Could you not just admit your love like everyone else?"

"...Shut up, frog."

"Onhonhon~ I don't see you denying it."

"What?!"

"Je t'aime, Arthur," he breathed in England's ear.

"That's how you tell someone you love them."

The Brit was silent for a few seconds, and France worried he'd got it all wrong. Just his luck, he thought the idiot had finally given in to all his efforts and then he just ended up making a fool of himself-

"Okay. Fine."

"...Fine what?"

Now France was really confused. England's face was even redder than it had been before, and he shifted slightly under the other blonde before he spoke again.

"I give up. I...I love you too."

The bombstruck look on France's face made England blush harder, his acid green eyes lit by the sunlight and giving them a gold glow. France let out a stream of French words that sounded suspiciously like a prayer. The Brit below him frowned. "Stop with the stupid froggy language," he said. France pouted. "But, mon amour..."

"No. Shut up or I'll make you."

"But-"

This time England took the initiative and pulled the other down for another kiss by his shirt. This one was wilder, less controlled than before. When they broke it off they simply stared at each other for a few seconds, either in shock at each other or something else entirely. France grinned at England as he rolled off the Brit to lay beside him. Green eyes flashed at him as a middle finger was raised. A pout replaced the grin immediately.

"Is it really so hard to say 'I love you' instead of being mean?"

"Shut. Up."

"Make me."

### ####

Finis~

Or close enough to.


	2. Chapter 2

((I'm halfway through writing a million smut scenes, so I wrote something fluffy. It's Valentine's Day, that's my excuse))

### ####

"Angleterre, you look stressed~ Are you okay, cher?"

Arthur folded up his suit jacket, profusely ignoring the smirking blonde he was sharing a room with, and his stupid innuendos. He could feel the Frenchman's smug smile without even having to look, and it irritated him to no end. It was just his luck he'd been stuck in a room with the biggest pervert on the planet. Said Frenchman chuckled, and Arthur heard him stand up.

"Angleterre, would you like me to cook us a fancy dinner?"

"Fat chance, frog. I'm going drinking."

Arthur turned, still refusing to look at Francis, and stalked out of the room. He heard that damn obnoxious laugh echoing in his ears as he hopped down the stairs, nearly tripping over on the way. His driven mind had only one goal; escape the blonde, and his intrusive thoughts about him.

### ####

"And he just keeps provoking me!"

Yao stared down at his drink, wishing he'd had something stronger so then he wouldn't have to deal with Arthur's complaints about Francis. Yong Soo was sitting next to them, although he wasn't drinking; the bartender was unsure why a sixteen-year old was in a bar and none of them could be bothered to explain it to the baffled-looking young man, the Korean least of all. Yao slammed his forehead on the counter as Arthur ordered yet another drink. "No more," he mumbled into the furnished wood. Clearly it didn't hear his prayer, because the British man just kept talking, although it was more slurring at this point.

"I kicked his ass once before, and I'll do it again!"

Yong Soo was looking at the front of his shirt strangely; but it wasn't new to the old Chinese man, it usually meant the Korean was planning a groping attempt. However, he didn't make any move. Usually he'd wait until they were alone so he could do whatever he wanted.

"I mean, he keeps suggesting all these disgusting things, and I hate it! I'm the United Bloody Kingdom, he should have more respect!"

"Aniki, do you suppose England is in denial, and he actually likes Francey, da zee?"

"I ...don't really care, aru."

"Do you really think so?"

Yong Soo nodded vigorously at the Brit, wrapping his arms around Yao as he did. The older man didn't react, far too used to his rough treatment by now to really care about it. Arthur looked puzzled, like only a man drunk off his head could. "So...what you're saying is..." he started, trailing off. "You want to claim him, da zee," the Korean finished for the Brit, squeezing Yao's chest lightly. The brunette flinched away, an irritated expression on his face. "Not now, Yong Soo," he hissed at the younger. "Later?" came the quip.

He sighed. "When I finish my drink, maybe, aru."

Yong Soo reached past him and downed the drink. "Maybe means yes in Korea!" he chirped, grabbing Yao's wrist and pulling him along. "Where did Arthur go?" the Chinese man asked absently.

"To claim France for Korea, da zee~"

### ####

Francis was typing away on his laptop when he heard the door creak open. Assuming it was Gilbert, he called out to the figure in the shadows. "Gil, mon cher, the beer is in the fridge." There was no reply, which disturbed him a little. Dark blue eyes flickered to the light switch on the wall and back to the swaying shadow. Then it clicked.

"Angleterre?"

He closed the laptop, sitting it on the bedside table, before he made his way over to Arthur. Immediately unfocused green eyes settled on him. "...frog," he said, the word slurring quite a bit. Francis frowned. "Angleterre, how many drinks did you have?" Without warning, the shorter blonde fell forward, and the Frenchman barely had time to catch him. The limp body in his arms was warm, and he lifted Arthur up and onto the bed. He looked down at the Brit, puzzled at the small smile on the other's face. There was no tension, no grumpiness...it was alluring.

Before Francis could help himself, he was leaning down to press his lips against the others. Arthur was so soft, so warm- he closed his eyes in pure bliss as he drew back, a smile drifting across his face lazily.

"Frooooog~ Come back..."

He looked incredulously down at the Brit, who was reaching sleepily for him. "Sleep with me," came the request as the sleeve of his shirt was caught by pale fingers and tugged. "You're drunk, Angleterre," Francis said reluctantly. Arthur giggled.

"No, silly frog, not like that~ I'm tired~"

Francis let the Brit pull him down on the bed next to him. Then Arthur shifted closer, tangling their legs together and resting his head on the taller blonde's chest. Francis paused for a moment, caught between complaining at the lack of sex and jumping with joy. Then he wrapped an arm around the Brit's waist and breathed in the clear, clean scent of the other.

"Mm...frog, you're nice and warm, for...a wanker..."

Francis smiled. "Je t'aime, mon Angleterre."

"...what...?"

"Good night, Arthur."

"Mkay...night..."

It didn't matter if he remembered it in the morning, Francis mused.

It was still worth it, so worth it.

### ####

((My reason for this is I'm tired, and I daydream when I'm tired. My daydream wasn't FrUk...but...meh.))


	3. Chapter 3

DARoma; I really need ideas & prompts for FrUk. It's hard. Hmhm...I don't actually support this that much. FrUk just isn't my style. Framano, yes. UsUk, yes. PrUk, yes. FraSpaMano, yes.

Japan; *holds up camera* DARoma-san? These pairings you speak of...

DARoma; ...I'm writing them. Jeez. I just wanted to write something about France getting jelly, because it's just so hypocritical. *laugh*

Hungary; Are you sure you don't want to write...faster?

Japan; Hungary-san, she saw your frying pan and ran away...

Hungary; ...oh. What a shame, we'll have to track her down later, Hm, Japan?

Japan: *salutes* Hai.

### ####

To be fair, France couldn't help it if he was addicted to England.

That was just how it was.

"You will never go near him again, Angleterre."

The Brit didn't reply, looking up at the other with a slightly puzzled look working its way across his face. The taller blonde shoved him up against the wall of the dimly-lit hallway, roughly kissing him. Arthur responded slowly, enjoying the temporary dominance the other had used to get them in this situation. Francis was unavoidable like this; and for some reason Arthur just found it so damn broke off to breathe shakily, licking his bruised lips and watching the other for any reactions. Francis's eyes were a dark, dark blue, clouded with desire. He was normally much more restrained than this, but somehow jealousy had sparked something dark and set it blazing, like a fire in the night. "No one else. Angleterre? Do you understand?" Francis's words were harsh, almost bitten off, and his accent wasn't flowing like normal.

Dark green eyes met his. "I..."

### ####

Arthur felt another note hit him in the back of the head, hard, and tried to keep his cool. Until yet one more pricked the back of his neck.

"Argh!"

He whipped around, sending a dark glare at the blonde sitting a few meters away. Gilbert grinned, snickering his weird laugh as Alfred, the perpetrator, motioned to the notes piling around the shorter blonde. For some reason Alfred, Matthias and Gilbert were sitting together, maybe because only ones like them could handle the other two's giant egos.

Arthur sighed deeply and slowly reached down to pick up one of the messily made notes, scanning the scrawling handwriting.

'Artie! Let's go out to McDonalds or something!'

He picked up another.

'Call me later. Please?'

'Dude, answer me!'

'Please? I'll buy you a McRib!'

Arthur snorted. 'No,' he wrote on the back of the first note and scrunched it up before tossing it. It hit dead center; bouncing off of Alfred's forehead. The American caught it as it headed towards the floor and opened it, an excited look on his face. The expression dropped as he read it, Matthias looking over his shoulder and guffawing. Alfred looked up at the Brit's smirk and scribbled on the paper, throwing it back.

'Why not?'

'I don't want to. Also, I don't like your stupid McDonalds anyway.'

'Aww, Artiiiieeee!'

'No.'

Arthur barely noticed Francis's eyes on him during his unspoken conversation, so when the blonde pulled him into his lap, plucking the note from his fingers, he froze, allowing it. The Brit stared up at Francis, feeling a chill at the lack of expression the other wore as blue eyes scanned the nearly-illegible scrawl on the page. Finally he finished and looked over at Alfred.

"Amerique?"

America laughed, although he sounded nervous. Actually, the whole meeting room had gone silent and everyone was watching- except for Spain, who was pestering Romano about the younger looking like a tomato. No one else saw it, but...that was Spain for you.

"Yeah, frenchy dude, what is it?"

"Never try this again or I will gut you like a fish."

The words were so dark, so unexpected from FRANCIS of all people, that the meeting room stayed near-silent for the rest of the meeting. Arthur stayed on Francis's lap nervously, his face burning; although with the grip on his waist he doubted he had much of a choice anyway.

They walked back to the hotel in silence as well, Francis practically dragging him back.

### ####

((Back to le present))

Arthur trailed off as Francis's lips connected with his once again, and he was lost in the rich taste of the taller blonde. Francis was fully pressing him into the hard surface of the wall, and he could only hope no one would walk by. They were making out in a corridor, after all. It was okay if others saw; he was just worried about what Francis might do to Alfred if he had the chance. The blonde had never seemed like the jealous type; that was more Arthur's job, to glare at the pretty women the over-friendly man flirted with.

He was brought back to the present by hands picking him up and slinging him over one shoulder. "Francis..." he started, beginning to scold the other, but he stopped when the Frenchman's room key was shoved in the lock, the door kicked open, and he was shoved on the bed. "Francis, would you calm the bloody hell down?!" he grumbled from the bed. The click of the lock had him sitting up again, shocked the man was going this far when he himself was the most outrageous flirt out there.

Francis smirked at him.

"What?"

"I should be saying that to you, mon Angleterre."

The taller motioned to Arthur's own pants. Unfortunately, they were getting rather uncomfortably tight after all he'd been through. "I-I-I have no idea what you're talking about," the Brit replied, trying to save what was left of his dignity. Francis smirked, most of the tension gone from his face. "Really?" he murmured, stepping closer.

"Hey, what're you-"

Arthur's protests were cut off as Francis's hand landed on his pants and pressed against his bulge. The Brit's breath caught embarrassingly as he used all his self-control not to pull the Frenchman closer, instead freezing in the spot. By now Francis's lips were inches from his; he could feel the warm, wine-scented breath on his own face. "Would you...like some help with that, Angleterre?" he asked softly.

Jeez, Francis was being bipolar today.

"Now you're trying to make me beg after having a jealous spat?"

"Oui. But, Angleterre, if you'd rather take care of it yourself, please, go ahead~"

Arthur glared at the blonde as he drew away a few inches, frustrated beyond belief by this impossible idiot. "Now you're just going to leave me here?!"

Then an idea clicked in the Brit's head.

"...maybe I should call Alfred to help, Hm?"

As he looked innocently up at his captor, trying not to let the smirk reach his face as Francis's smile evaporated. "Non," he growled before pushing Arthur down on the bed, connecting their lips again for a brief moment before licking his neck slowly. The Brit underneath him felt a shiver of delight and made a small sound as Francis sucked on his collarbone, biting hard to leave a mark. "Mine," he growled into the bruised skin. Arthur cast his half-lidded gaze to the blonde who was now unbuttoning his shirt. Although he didn't really mind all this, his pants were getting to be rather a pain.

"Francis..." he groaned.

"Hm...? Oui?"

"...just get it on with."

"But, mon Angleterre, you don't seem to understand yet."

Arthur could only frown at the strange reply. "Understand what, frog?"

Dark, dilated blue eyes met his green ones. "That you are mine, and no one else can have you."

Arthur frowned and went to reply when Francis slid one hand down his underwear and squeezed lightly. "Oh, fuck," he managed to hiss out. Francis's soft lips were on his neck, and he knew through the haze in his mind marks were being left upon his skin. The tug of his pants and underwear being pulled off made him shiver as the cool air wafted down his body. Somehow Francis's own clothes had vanished before this, and as he brushed against Arthur's hypersensitive body, the Brit let his breath out sharply. Francis's skillful hand returned to where it had been previously; and Arthur was overtaken by the pleasure sweeping through his body.

"Mine," came the mutter after a few minutes of this.

"Yes, fine, whatever. Just- unh- hurry the bloody h-hell up!"

"As you wish, Angleterre."

### ####

((Yeah, I'm a cockblock, but I didn't have the time or confidence to write FrUk sexy time))

### ####

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to cover these marks up?!"

Arthur stared dismally at his reflection, an unbuttoned shirt revealing dark bruises from the edge of his jawline, all the way down his neck, across his collarbone. "Wanker," he grumbled at the Frenchman smirking from the bed. Francis shrugged. "I made my point, non?"

"Yes, yes. I get it."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

### ####


	4. Le Based-on-a-song

**#Sight of The Sun (Het! FrUk) #**

**This wasn't written as part of the collection. Nonetheless, enjoy reading, although I'd rather be writing PruCan. :3 Or Stridercest.**

**NO NO NO STOP WITH THE DAMN STRIDERCE-**

**Apologies. I don't ship this. I'm sure people love FrUk, but I'm more Framano and PrUk myself, I'm afraid.**

'**s been a while since I wrote some French, correct me if I'm wrong because its' been a while. **

### ####

"…_For once there is nothing up my sleeve  
Just some scars from a life that used to trouble me  
I used to run at first sight of the sun  
Now I lay here waiting for you to wake up."_

Francis smiled faintly down at the blonde girl lying asleep in his bed. Alice looked...oddly peaceful like this, no stress or formality shielding her as she dreamed of something far away. Her long blonde hair fanned out around her like the wings of a golden phoenix, the barely-there sunlight catching the threads and making them glow. He couldn't believe his hands had been on that beautiful, elegant body, touching, brushing, infinitely gentle. How could someone so down to earth be so set apart?

Francis looked out the window, satisfaction bubbling up within him, rising like the sun. The pale yellow was beginning to show itself from the window, the only reason the blonde noticing is because of the light hitting Alice's pale body. He wasn't worthy of her love, but it wasn't like he'd reject it. He was too sullied for that, too selfish. Alice was something he'd never willingly give away now he had her. He could only hope it was real and not just the inevitable alcohol content talking for the slightly rude British girl.

"_The city outside still sounds like it's on fire…  
You put on new sheets, the white flag of a Saturday night,  
I know we stayed up talking in circles,  
But I like to think the symmetry will keep me close to you,"_

It was strange how usually with the girls he slept with, he'd be away in a second, unsatisfied with his situation, and now all he wanted to do was watch her while she slept, enjoying the peace. He'd broken many hearts like that, and half-expected this to be vengeance for all of that. Well, he was the nation of romance and all, but let's face it, he was a bit of a slut at the best of times. But for her, oh, he'd stop everything. He'd fight the biggest battles without running away, he'd sacrifice everything just for another taste of her.

Francis realised faintly there were sirens blaring outside. His people couldn't have chosen a better time to drive like Italians? Had there been another car accident, really? If it woke Alice up he'd murder someone. His people knew not to mess with l'amour unless it was for a decent purpose. He'd brought them up like this. Love was the highest form of living. And her sleeping face was something he'd never gotten a glimpse of before. The relaxed feeling it brought was simply intoxicating.

"_For everyone, I'm out to prove wrong, you keep the light on,  
The only one, you know me better than the truth.  
So, despite what I've done, I pray to God that we can move on,  
'Cause thus far you are the best thing that this life has yet to lose,"_

It was amusing how the sheets were white, and how they offset the skin tone of the British girl's skin. Or what was visible, anyway. A small section of the sheet was pulled over her chest, covering her soft breasts that Francis had so enjoyed touching. And it covered everything that could be considered inappropriate, the next visible piece of pale skin from Alice's thin thighs and downwards. The only regrettable thing about this, really, was that she really deserved better than him.

And that was his problem, really.

"…_And for once there is nothing up my sleeve  
Just some scars from a life that used to trouble me  
I used to run at first sight of the sun  
Now I lay here waiting for you to wake up  
I lay here waiting for you to wake up."_

##MEMORIESNOTSONGLYRICS##

_"Ange, you know what I have done, that I have sinned beyond repair...and yet you still want to...?"_

"_Yes, you bloody idiot."_

_His hands ran gently over the soft skin of her shoulder, the scars shining in the dim moonlight. For some reason he was reminded of an angel's wings, strange as it was. But in his head it made perfect sense nonetheless. It was just how Alice was, after all. Fiery green eyes flickered up to his and then looked away again, her cheeks slowly going red as he kept paying attention to the scars on her fragile-looking body. He felt a pang shoot through him at the thought of other people touching her like this, unappreciative of the pure fight she was. She deserved so much better than him._

"_Alright."_

_Her lips were soft, softer than he'd every imagined. He felt himself rise to heaven from just this single kiss, and pulled her closer, needing more than this. Alice flinched at first from the only slightly rough touch but seemed to enjoy it. He felt her hands fist slightly in his own hair and refrained from smiling as he drew back. She blinked at him as he gently slipped off her glasses, making that bright green stand out even more._

"_Je t'aime," he mumbled as he undid her bra strap._

##ENDOFMEMORIESNOTSONGLYRICS##

"_So if you gonna leave, if you gonna go,  
I can't bear to sleep without you in my arms…  
I know we got caught up sifting through a crowd of pebbles and lures,  
But you must not let them take you,  
They don't know you like I do,"_

Alice mumbled something incomprehensible in her sleep and rolled over slightly, enticing Francis from where he was standing at the window to go back to the bed and wrap her in his arms. Surprisingly enough, she didn't wake up; simply shifted closer so she was comfortable and went back to whatever she was dreaming about. He wondered faintly what she might be thinking of.

Him?

Well, it was a nice thought, but no, he doubted it a lot. She was probably thinking of tea…or that green rabbit she was always on about. It was cute, really, hearing her soft breathing and wondering what she was thinking about. He buried his face in her hair and pulled her even closer; breathing in her faintly sweet scent of rain and roses, indulging in the comfort her slight figure brought him. A sigh escaped him, but it wasn't sad, oh no, it was relief that he could finally tell her he loved her and maybe, just maybe, she'd believe him this time. It was always a tiny bit of hope, rising like the sun deep within him.

"…_For once there is nothing up my sleeve_

_Just some scars from a life that used to trouble me,_

_I used to run at first sight of the sun,_

_Now I lay here waiting for you to wake up,_

_I lay here waiting for you to wake up."_

My God, she was beautiful.

"…frog? What're you doing?"

He pulled back to see her sleepy expression, much like a cat's, as she rubbed at her eyes with one hand. She finally pursed her lips and looked up at him, waiting for an answer, but the pale pink of her lips distracted him now, gazing at them. Alice frowned, not pleased she was being ignored, even if it was in favor of her body, and flicked him on the forehead lightly, snapping him out of it. He blinked at her, unsure of what she had been saying. One hand of his trailed up the side of her face, enjoying the soft skin. Clearly she had been busy talking, however, because now there was a flash of irritation in her gaze.

"Frog."

"…mm? Oui, ange?"

"Don't call me that."

"Will you stop calling me 'frog'? I am not a grenoille."

"Then stop with the froggy language. Idiot."

He sighed, amused by how she could be so rude this early in the morning. It was so _her _to be like this after the night before. But there was a certain softness when she called him that name now, like all the bite had been taken out of her words. Maybe there had been no bite in it after all. Who knew? He certainly didn't. Then again, he'd never really taken any of her insults to heart anyway. A small smile graced his face as he noticed her pouting. Was she wanting his attention that badly? Well, it would be a disappointment if he didn't reply to such a cute facial expression.

"…you didn't seem to have a problem with my 'froggy language' last night when we were spreading amour."

"_Do you remember when we stayed up till the sun strikes through the room?_

_I used to blame it on the Queen's Walk in down 7th avenue,_

_It's been years now since we moved,_

_I gotten good at an excuse,_

_You know I try not to speak superlatives,_

_But it's impossible to you."_

"Y-you stupid- I- gah!" Alice let out a disgusted noise and folded her arms over her chest, her face going red. Francis chuckled at the show of sulking, pulling her into his embrace. The cold sensation of her face on his collarbone made him smile, as she brushed her body against him in a vague attempt to escape. But he knew she wasn't really going anywhere. He wouldn't let her. Now she was his, he couldn't bear to see her go, even if it was just to the-

"Frog. I need to go to the bathroom. I'm not staying like this."

"…not unless I come with you, Ange."

"Fine!"

As she stood, stretching her arms slightly with Francis watching her with what he assumed was a lecherous grin on his face, a stomping sound was heard from outside. They both turned their heads to the hotel room's door as it was practically broken down. Alice let out a very loud squeak as Alfred poked his head in the room, his smile big and bright. He scanned the room, azure eyes glancing over Alice's naked body and Francis still lounging on the bed, making no effort to move from the sheets so the British girl could pull something over herself. Alfred shrugged to himself and walked a step in the room, ignoring Alice's protests.

"Mo-om, you said you'd come with me for icecream!"

"Bloody _hell, _Alfred! I am not your mother, we've spoken about this! Can't it wait?!"

"No. I don't care if you want to dance in France some other time, but I want icecream now!"

"For fu-"

"-Now, now, ange, why don't you get in the shower?"

Alice grumbled under her breath as she made her way to the bathroom, slamming it shut as she entered. As soon as he heard the water running in the room Alfred hopped over to the bed, wrinkling his nose but still beaming, and held his hand up. Francis kept his urge to roll his eyes to himself and high-fived the poor boy.

"Score, bro!" Alfred cheered.

_How did she raise this boy? _Francis asked himself. But altogether, he supposed since they'd sort of raised him together, he was partly their child. And maybe Finland's. But nonetheless, he'd seen most of Alice's colonies, and they had all grown up to be exactly how she'd intended them to.

"_The city outside is nothing but a flicker now,_

_You see our friends to bed, you turn out the lights,_

_I start to think you'll make a beautiful mother I,_

_I like to think I have everything I want from this life."_


	5. Chapter 5

**# FrUk 05 #**

**I got the idea for this when I was walking home from classes and I nearly walked into a tree. Lots of fun for the whole family. At least no one noticed, right?**

**My neck hurts. I dunno why.**

### ####

"This is a horrible idea," England grumbled.

France chuckled. "No one will notice, Angleterre. I promise."

England shot him another glare as he glanced around the brightly lit cafe. It was that horribly bright yellow colour that seemed to leech everything away, and he felt himself grimace. France grinned from the seat across from him, a lecherous look that had the Brit shuddering with horror on the outside and with anticipation in the corners of his mind. A window was partially open where they were seated, to let in a warm summer breeze, and it drifted through England's messy hair as he sighed heavily. Why did he have to be put through this torture? This was apparently the price of being romantically involved with a French pervert.

"I think it'd be pretty obvious if the manager or something walks in, you git," he retorted.

France pouted, trying to look cute even though it really wasn't. "But...Angleterre, please?"

"I hate you."

"Yes, yes. But you still lost our little bet, so you don't really have a choice."

England looked away, a disgruntled expression shifting onto his face. He didn't even want to be here in the first place. Why had he agreed to that blasted bloody drinking bet? A sigh escaped him and he dropped his forehead onto the table, nearly upsetting his half empty cup of tea as he did. France kept his smug look at bay as he waved off a concerned citizen who had heard the bang. No, his friend was fine. He was just being...melodramatic. He managed to convince even the young waitresses that it was alright. Then he glanced back at the Brit, something that looked like a shrug lifting his shoulders. England noticed it and glared at him from the surface of the table, half his face hidden.

"Fuck you. I better not get caught," came the muffled reply.

France grinned. "I shall see you next week today, Angleterre. Do not disappoint me."

He was going to have so much fun with this. It had been his best idea since the beret- wait, that wasn't his idea anyway. Think of something else. It had been his best idea since sleeping with the grumpy blonde Brit he was helplessly in love with, then. A silly little smile rose to France's lips as he stood gracefully, still daydreaming. Soon he wouldn't _have_ to daydream. He really did enjoy it when England took him up on bets he couldn't lose.

### ####

The next week, as promised, France arrived once again at the cafe, blowing a kiss at the ladies working that day. They left him to find a seat, as a regular and the embodiment of the country they worked in, he was pretty much left to do whatever he wanted. He chose a spot by the window, which may or may not have had to do something with the fact that the more window there was, the less wallpaper there was. Then his blue gaze flickered towards the group of girls, and he rested his bearded chin on one hand as he looked away again. After about a minute of daydreaming, he was aware of a presence next to him and turned slightly.

"I...er...what would you like today, sir?"

France nearly lost his wit then and there. Because the girl serving was amazingly sexy looking.

Acidic green eyes stared at him with a carefully controlled neutral expression from the locks of dark, curled hair that hid those odd eyebrows. A slight brushing of makeup had made those eye more dark, more mysterious than before. Lips set into a forced smile were a dark, sinful-looking red. The outfit itself was simple, a black lace design that fell mid-thigh and was accented by a white apron with the same lace. Pale legs were covered with long white socks, and black ankle boots gave it a less traditional look. Lastly, short white gloves, with yet the same lace, with a pen and notepad in hand.

"Sir...?"

France picked his jaw up off of the floor and smiled pleasantly, secretly glad there was a table there that hid the bulge in his pants from view. He was the nation of l'amour, he needed to get a grip on himself! The girl (whose voice was so obviously British, but somehow he'd managed to make it sound more feminine) shifted on her feet, a light blush dusting at her cheeks. She seemed a little annoyed by his lack of speaking, and France glanced at the menu without seeing it, drawing it out longer and resisting the urge to do anything.

"Ow!"

"Sir, are you alright? You look like you're in pain."

He resisted the urge to start a fight right there in the cafe. He didn't want rumors going around that he started fights with cute maids. The woman stood there patiently, an amused air around her now. He cradled his head, trying to act nonchalant and not like the woman had just _smacked him with the sharp end of the notepad._ "Of course, cher," came his muffled reply. The maid gave him a smile that almost looked murderous behind the friendliness, and by God it rivalled Belarus. "Do you wish to order anything, then?"

"Ah...I shall have a cup of coffee, si'vous plait."

"Good choice."

She spun on her heel after scribbling down something, and France was treated to the delicious sight of a panty shot and a very nice ass. He licked his suddenly dry lips, staring out the window again. This had been an absolutely brilliant success. Because damn, he'd been right in thinking that England would make a hot maid. After the whole nurse outfit thing, he'd just been waiting for a moment when he could take advantage of the blonde in that kind of way again.

After a few minutes he glanced away from the window. Where was his victim- no, his maid? He scanned the girls standing around and saw none that looked like his lover. His stomach sunk to his knees as he imagined the worst, that England had been caught, and he let out a sigh. He'd been looking forward to this for far too long, and then just as he was getting what he wanted, he was going to be kicked out and unsatisfied?

Then his phone vibrated, and he scrabbled to scan the screen.

**Angleterre; meet me in the back frog**

**Sent at 9:02am, Sunday**

**Me; As you wish, cher~**

**Sent at 9:03am, Sunday**

He stood, a smirk stretching across his face, and wondered faintly how England had managed to secure a place for them to...relieve themselves without the public noticing. Or maybe he hadn't; it sounded like a kink the other might have. He winked at the other maids and walked nonchalantly towards the bathrooms, glad that it was a corridor to the rest of the cafe as well.

Oh, this had been worth it.

Even if he hadn't gotten his coffee.


End file.
